


Sweetbread

by Hellion (helli0n)



Series: Sweetbreads [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Motionless in White (Band)
Genre: Cannibalism, Gen, Hedonism, M/M, Multi, Murder Husbands, Older Man/Younger Man, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helli0n/pseuds/Hellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Will Graham behind bars, Hannibal Lecter reconnects with an old "reformed" patient whose own sinister interests align with his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetbread

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write and post this for a while, now.
> 
> The idea of Chris and Hannibal sort of started as a joke pairing but quickly became something I wanted others to read. I've created a series called "Sweetbreads" on here so I can add extra stories about the pairing even after this story is finished.
> 
> This piece starts in the middle of season two.
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to vinyl_cigarettes because he kept encouraging me to write it. Thanks, Andrew! <3

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, swathed in a red damask smoking jacket he found too garish, stood over his protégé in the center of the room. His protégé: a strongly-featured, but soft-looking young man, sat upright, like a doll, propped up in a leather wingback chair, eyes straight ahead as if listening. The doctor seemed to be listening, too, his strong, clinical hands holding the back of the chair with all the tenderness one would reserve for gripping another’s shoulders. Whatever the pair was listening for, it was not in the room.

There was a sternness to them like the subjects of a Van Eyck painting. Everything in the room was set just so, just right: a stage before the curtains are opened for the premiere audience, a chessboard before the checkmate is put into motion.

The young man seemed to tense infinitesimally, and his fever-bright eyes met the doctor’s in the large mirror on the wall before them. A smile curled his pink lips into something almost smugly innocent.

Tilting his head, the doctor’s expression shifted subtly. A far-off scream rose in the night, shriller and louder, until the sound blew past the front of the doctor’s Baltimore estate, the red and white lights bathing them in shades of blood and innocence. Within moments, the sound was faint, fainter, lost again in the low hum of the city, and the doctor’s waxen face had become the very expression his protégé was wearing.

Wordlessly, Dr. Lecter crossed to the mirror and the low, dark wood table standing under it. Unstopping a decanter of Courvoisier L’Esprit, he poured some out into two snifters before glancing up at the reflection of the young man who was now slumped in the chair: legs spread, head off-kilter. Smiling, bemused, the doctor stopped the decanter back up and returned to his young lover with both glasses, kneeling between his knees

Slipping one glass into the young man’s hand, he gazed up at him, caressing the natural ribbon curl of his dark, mahogany hair, the sleek curve of his jaw.

“Christopher,” he said- his warm accent caressing each syllable in a way that made the ordinary name sound exotic. He smiled at the smile that lit up his lover’s face.

Chris rocked his glass of cognac slowly, entranced by the dirty golden bloody gem color of the liquor, knowing to experience it and cherish it with all senses before he tasted it.

He’d tasted it before, but had learned to love its hue and full scent all the more for it. Watching him gave Dr. Lecter a certain thrill of pride.

Taking Chris’ empty hand, he brushed his thumb over a rough patch of burnt skin along the back of it, drawing an empty breath and shiver from the young man. No pain, no surprise, only ecstasy. He was breeding the boy to be both a connoisseur and the coveted thing to be consumed.

It was a second-degree burn and would not take the skilled doctor long to heal. By the time the investigators made their rounds, even if Baltimore’s finest were fast about it for once, they’d be able to pass it off as cooking accident: something clumsy that happened during an otherwise-intimate moment in the privacy of his stronghold of a home. No further questions would be asked of a man who had given so much to the community. He’d hardly be drawn in as a suspect, much less questioned about his possible relationship with such a young thing as Chris.

He watched the young man raise the glass to his lips and take half a sip. Watching how easily his lips wrapped around the taste and how he savored it made his own mouth water. His lower stomach twisted and he grounded himself by gently squeezing Chris’ hand.

He was reflected in those now heavily lidded molten-honey eyes, and as he watched himself smile, his lover’s lips curved to match his own.


End file.
